A Stir In The East
by willshakespeare-immortalbard
Summary: Sauron returns...and the stakes are higher. AU universe. Set in the Fourth Age, 20 years after the Fall of Sauron. Short introduction, but will be continued. Rated T for danger and torture and descriptive agony/horror, etc. Please read/review!
1. Prologue

**A/N—J.R.R. Tolkien owns this. I don't. **

**Summary: AU universe story-Something in the East awakens...**

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><p><strong>A Stir In The East<strong>

_Ash nazg durbatuluk..._

The brilliant midsummer moon vanished suddenly, eclipsed by the dark clouds that sped across the sky, merging into a black shroud. The fires in every hearth died, the embers smoking briefly before the very embers faded.

_Ash nazg gimbatul..._

The ruins of Mordor shivered, rubble shifting, ash and dust rising, hanging over the debris. Faint rivulets of glowing lava sparked against the cold rock of Orodruin, and then were extinguished by the gloomy clouds.

_Ash nazg thrakatuluk..._

The gates of Minas Morgul swung inward as if thrown back by the hand of Sauron himself, and a chill breath seemed to suck in the life of the world. For an instant, the moon peered out of the clouds, and the water glinted and shimmered in its light. Wind rushed over the grass, heading for the looming gates, and then the world froze, the water drained away, the wind silent, all signs of light gone.

_Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul..._

In the Morgul Vale—hidden by the darkness that would not have skittered away even if there had been a moon to make the attempt—the small, pale flowers on the rocky floor opened.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N—J.R.R. Tolkien owns this. I don't. **

**Summary: Something in the East awakens...**

**Many thanks to Gwedhiel0117, who reviewed the introduction! They pointed out that I hadn't been very clear on the timeline for this piece-thank you Gwedhiel!-and I'd like to amend that now. This takes place in the Fourth Age, 20 years after The War of the Ring. I'm afraid that's the best I can offer. I don't really know the dates that well. Thanks again Gwedhiel! This chapter's for you!**

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><p><em>The Fourth Age—20 years after the Fall of Sauron and the Return of the King<em>...

"NO!"

Frodo started from his bed, sitting bolt upright, fingers clutching at the bed sheets. His shoulder throbbed, and black spots pulsed over his vision. He could still hear the harsh words, whispering and hissing in the back of his brain, the volume rising with every repeated remembrance of a glowing eye.

_Ash nazg...ash nazg...ash nazg..._

The stone floor was cold beneath his feet. He winced, the sharp stones of Gorgoroth rising in his mind, sticking into his skin, drawing blood that pooled—he looked down, searching for the seeping liquid, but there was none. He took a deep breath that rattled in his chest, catching like a sob, and stepped towards the hearth to rekindle the fire that had gone out.

_It oughtn't to have_, something in him whispered.

The curtains to the open window hung limply over the pane, and in a flash of burning horror, Frodo saw the fingers of the Witch King, reaching towards him...curling around the sword...

_Ash nazg...ash nazg..._

The whisper continued like a drumbeat, calling with all the horrific power that the Ring had possessed. Frodo glanced out of the window, searching for the moon, but it was hidden behind thick clouds—

_Ash nazg...ash nazg..._

The coals certainly shouldn't have been dark. The metal tongs were cold, and Frodo's shoulder screamed as the metal morphed into a sword that buried itself in his shoulder, sending numbing chill down his arm and side, into his fingers, into his heart...

_Ash nazg, ash nazg..._

He shifted the coals, and something shimmered, glowing of its own accord in the dark room.

_Ash nazg durbatuluk..._

As simple, as lovely as if it had never left the mantelpiece.

_Ash nazg gimbatul..._

His fingers shook as he grabbed the flint and struck it, tossing the flaming piece of fabric onto the coals.

_Ash nazg thrakatuluk..._

Waiting...waiting...his heart pounded; his throat blocked; he pushed back the scream—

_Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul..._

—letters raced along the golden surface, shaping in loops and curls, forming into words—

Frodo thrust his hand into the fire, ignoring the pain, and scooped the trinket from its place in the flames.

"Gandalf!"

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><p>The gold sang as the Ring dropped from Frodo's fingers onto the table, where the flickering light of the candle made the ever fading words glow intensely.<p>

"Look."

His voice seemed almost to run around the surface of the golden oval, slipping back out into the room, changing the deadened monosyllable into a whispering river—_look...look...look...look..._—that hung on the air.

Gandalf bent over the table, and Frodo saw his eyebrows lower. The wizard's eyes clouded, and he looked up briefly at Frodo, their eyes meeting, and Frodo winced as he saw, for an instant, the Eye, ever searching, pinning him in the form of Gandalf's gaze.

"Sauron was destroyed," Frodo said, and it wasn't like the last time, wasn't confident, wasn't incredulous. It was soft, confused, frightened—

The wind was gone. He couldn't breathe...

_Ash nazg...ash nazg..._

The fire wouldn't stay, the candle kept failing, kept casting them into darkness...

_Ash nazg...ash nazg..._

Gandalf picked up the Ring, the first time he'd ever done it, and he changed—tall—burning—overpowering—cold sword in his finger, laced with fire that spurted from the ring upon his finger—

"Frodo."

He blinked, pushing the image away, his lips moving in silent words, silent whispers that he didn't understand.

"Frodo. Listen to me."

He nodded, and he could feel the weight of the Ring on its chain, digging into his neck, rubbing away the skin...

"This _is _the One Ring."

_Ash nazg durbatuluk..._

"You have seen the words. Have you not?"

He nodded again. His limbs were shaking...he couldn't feel his left arm...

_Ash nazg gimbatul..._

"I fear that things we never dreamed of are about to happen: the One has resurfaced—"

_Ash nazg thrakatuluk..._

"Sauron has returned."

_Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul...krimpatul...krimpatul...krimpatul..._

A scream split the air and the world pulsed with light.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N—J.R.R. Tolkien owns this. I don't. **

**Many thanks to Gwedhiel for continued reviews/advice! **

**Ergothane, by the way, is an OC I created...just for clarification...**

**Please read/review!**

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><p>"Run!" Gandalf's voice reverberated in his ears, making him tremble. He fled, slipping around the corner, out into the hall, running like he had never run before.<p>

"The Nine! The Nine! _A, Elbereth!_"

Frodo's heart hammered against his chest—_one-two-one-two-one-two—doom-doom-doom-doom-doom—_and he fought to keep breathing, tried to find air though there seemed to be none—_doom-doom-doom—_

"The Nine!"

Behind him, he heard the doors to the great house slam open, and Elven and Nazgul voice merged in a high, shrill shriek that made him stumble, reaching to cover his ears, the Ring threatening to slip from his grasp and roll across the ground—no, slipping on his finger—another scream as the world clouded over, and he couldn't see—

_Ash nazg...ash nazg..._

Louder now, Sauron, calling, calling...

_Ash nazg...ash nazg..._

The grass was brittle beneath his feet, and the air was stagnant. He couldn't breathe; the air was cold and hard—

_Ash nazg, ash nazg...Elbereth—_

"_Elbereth_," he gasped, reaching for the jewel about his neck, yanking the Ring from his finger. "_Elbereth..._"

—_doom-doom-doom-doom-doom—_

The gates of the watchtower loomed, and he managed a ragged cry.

"Ergothane!"

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><p>An arrow, loosed from a bow—he slammed to a halt, gasping in horror—curling fingers, snatching the arrow from the air as a lithe figure landed, catlike—<p>

"Frodo? What brings you out in the midst of danger? Did Gandalf send you?"

Ergothane's voice sliced through the screaming, and Frodo focused on the warm tones that, though so much more sophisticated, somehow always made him think of Sam—tears started—

He unclenched his fist, and held out the Ring.

Ergothane drew back, his dark hair haloing out as he whipped his head away, averting his eyes.

"The Ring was destroyed!" he snapped, his Elvish voice worried, angry, frightened...

_Ash nazg...ash nazg..._

The Elf heard the whisper too, and his hands twitched toward his ears.

_Ash nazg...ash nazg..._

"The Black Riders—Nazguls—have come. Gandalf told me to run...where?" he whispered.

_Where? _He didn't know. But Ergothane spun, grabbing Frodo's wrist, pulling him back towards the house, now ablaze.

"Come." Terse and brusque, Ergothane said no more as he raced through the havoc, slipping by Elves, ignoring the pleas for help that made Frodo stop, dragging his feet, staring in pity at the outstretched hands—

_Ash nazg durbatuluk.._

They left the house behind, darting down the grassy slope, the sharp blades of grass drawing blood from Frodo's feet, leaving drops of red dripping behind them.

_Ash nazg gimbatul..._

The waves lapped unnaturally up on the shore, slowly, as if they didn't have the strength; Ergothane swore, and touched something at his neck as if afraid he had lost it.

_Ash nazg thrakatuluk..._

Ergothane slashed at the ropes with his knife—the boat slid out—Ergothane shoved Frodo forward—_doom-doom-doom_—his heart wouldn't slow—flames spurted toward the sky—the Ring was eased from his fingers—a chain slipped into his hands—he looked down...

_Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul..._

The Ring sparkled on a delicate chain. He slipped it onto his neck, feeling the weight drag him towards the waves.


End file.
